Counterpoint
by haaschiibrownii
Summary: When Jim Kirk received his Hogwarts letter, it was the happiest day of his life. For Spock, it was one of the few that he became emotionally compromised. Now, when they both find themselves and their friends pitted against the force that killed Jim's father, how can they survive and save everyone's lives? Potterverse, but all Star Trek characters. Based off of the first movie.
1. Chapter 1

_Eleven Years Ago_

George Kirk still couldn't believe all of it. Sure, he had a cool head and was pretty intelligent and perceptual, but anyone without the imaginative mind of a child would have been thrown by it all. The day that his wife had told him (or rather, he found out) that she was a witch had certainly been one of the weirdest he had ever experienced. They had met on a trip. He was in his third year of college and was studying abroad, and she was in Cardiff for reasons that at that time he hadn't known. Miraculously, they had stayed in touch even after he found out that she didn't have a cell phone or even a home phone number for him to call. It was all history after that; while she seemed reluctant to fall in love, he persisted and when they were both twenty-eight years old they were married.

It was the last day of their honeymoon when he found out. He had gone out to the local market for groceries, and when he came back early because he had forgotten his wallet his wife was standing in the middle of the room with objects flying about her as she flicked a stick of wood through the hair. He simply stood there for a moment, until she turned around and he saw the same deer in the headlights expression that he had on his face mirrored on hers. It had taken a while to explain, sure, but he had gotten used to it.

The issue of George even knowing of magic had been difficult to resolve at the very least. In the rare case of a witch or wizard marrying a muggle, laws mandated that the Statue of Secrecy was to be maintained until a moment of necessity, such as an emergency or a magical child, in many cases. Once they determined that he wasn't going to do anything stupid and placed him under an agreement to not break the Statue of Secrecy himself, he had been allowed to go without having his memory modified. It had been difficult to slip into Winona's magical life at first, but he had adjusted and eventually loved her even more for it along with her other quirks.

When their first child, Sam, had been born, Winona couldn't contain her excitement. He was beautiful, more than either of them could have imagined. As their firstborn aged, however, he could see that his wife was still looking for signs that he would be able to follow in her path in magic. Winona had told him that sometimes children developed late or had latent magical abilities, but he could see that she was disappointed that Sam hadn't shown any magical ability to date. They had known that the chance their child was magical was small since George was a muggle and Winona's parents had been as well, but she had always hoped throughout their marriage that they would have been able to have a child capable of magic just as she was.

The second time she was pregnant, it had been unplanned. They were financially stable (in both the wizard and muggle banks), and it hadn't been unpleasant surprise. That's all it was: a surprise. Winona was not one to be tied down as she had during her first pregnancy, so throughout her first and second trimester she continued working, dangerous as her job as an Auror was. So when the communication came that they wanted her, needed her on a mission halfway through her eighth month, George had put his foot down. Their second child was due in two weeks, and Sam was only four years old. She had protested, stating that she needed to be there, that it was more important than just her job. Eventually, he had acquiesced on the condition that he had to go with her.

And that had gone over like a ton of bricks.

Apparently taking muggles on stuff like this was just a big no. But George Kirk was not one to give up, especially when now it involved the safety of his very pregnant wife. After several fierce conversations through the owl post (he still hadn't gotten used to that), the Ministry had eventually allowed him to go on the condition that he didn't interfere and tried not to stand out. They had been worried about him not being able to keep up, but after spending time in the American Army and working with tacticians, he had assured him that he was more than capable of staying with the group. They hadn't wanted to go without Winona, and eventually realized that they would just have to deal with George as well.

He didn't know the specifics of the mission, just that it was different from the others in the sense that it was just about as secretive as the Aurors got even within the wizarding society. His wife had handed him a secondhand set of robes that she had bought during her last trip to Diagon Alley, and they had set off. Everything was routine enough, but George suspected that he should've known that something would have gone wrong this time even though it never had before.

They had been traveling for quite some time when one of the wizards stopped and frowned. "Sir," he began, addressing Richard Robau, the man in charge. "I'm getting some magical energy displacement from nearby. It looks like it's coming out of nowhere."

The bald man's thick brow contracted, confusion etched on his face. "Is there an explanation?"

The other man swallowed. "No, sir. It's unexplainable, just a large displacement of magical energy without any apparent source. I recommend that we-"

Then all hell broke loose.

Men with heavily tattooed faces and sharp visages came rushing out, throwing back their hoods to expose themselves and firing bright bursts of light out of their wands. Immediately, all of the wizards drew their wands and attempted to retaliate, but there were simply too many. George moved slightly behind his wife as she shot spells wildly from the tip of her wand, not being able to help feeling as if it was a little backwards that he was he was relying on his very pregnant wife for protection when he was supposed to be the one protecting her. The hostiles kept firing alternating red and green jets out of their wands, and as their comrades fell the Aurors drew in closer together, George protectively shoving Winona to the middle even though she protested, beginning to gasp for breath. Wizard or not, he was going to protect her to the best of his ability.

But somehow, even though they had lost almost two fifths of their small twenty person group, the assault stopped. One solitary man stepped out, throwing back his hood to reveal inky, thick tattoos on his face and pointed ears. When he spoke, it was in a thick, raspy voice. "Our leader wishes to speak with the one in charge. A refusal would be…unwise." He paused briefly and let the fact that they were now outnumbered almost four to one sink in. "You have three minutes to make your decision." He turned on his heel and the others followed him into the depths of the forest.

The wizards stood there for a moment, then began to regroup. Immediately, George felt Winona's death grip on his arm and turned around to see her face contorted in pain and her hand on her belly. "George," she gasped. "I think it's coming."

George's face blanched as he realized what was happening, and for a moment he just stood there, unaware of what to do. He swore briefly, and then ran over to the Asian man that he distantly remembered had some semblance of medical training, or whatever they called it. "The baby's coming," he said breathlessly, watching as his eyes widened. "You need to get her out of here now."

The man frowned. "Apparition is extremely dangerous in her condition. There's a good chance we could end up splicing something involving the baby. I'd have to create a portkey; we can fix the authorization later."

"Do whatever you have to," George replied, taking a moment to remember just exactly what a portkey was. "I'm not going to let anything happen to her. What do I need to do?"

"Is there anything you have on you that I could use to create one?" The healer asked. "Muggle objects work best."

Without thinking, George shrugged off his jacket. "Just use this. I don't have anything else on me."

The man grabbed it, handing it to one of the other men who began casting the complicated spell. He quickly moved over to Winona who was now grimacing in pain. George watched as he sat her down on the ground, instructing her to keep breathing as her face contorted with effort. He kneeled next to her, offering words of comfort and encouragement.

Suddenly, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder steering him away from the scene and was surprised to see himself staring into the face of Richard Robau. The man quickly got down to business. "You have military experience, right?"

George paled. "Yes, sir."

Robau stared directly into his eyes. "I'm going to go and speak with them."

All of a sudden, George jumped. "Are you crazy? With all due respect sir, you can't go in there. Nothing good is going to come out of it."

"Yeah, well at least there we have a chance," Robau snarled. "Here, we'll almost certainly die. If I can delay them enough, the portkey might be ready to get those of us that are still alive out of here."

That meant something to George since both his wife and his child's lives were on the line. Slowly, he nodded, understanding the man's reasoning. Robau took a deep breath. "I'm leaving you in charge while I'm gone. You're the only one who has any sort of experience with this sort of thing; usually we just work one on one." Upon seeing the muggle's expression, Robau drew his lips tight and clapped him on the shoulder. "I need someone who can make good decisions under pressure. All of these people are great men and women as well as fighters, but I need someone who can get it."

George bit his lip. "And you think that's me?"

Robau looked around. "Well, you're the best we've got. So congratulations, you're an honorary Auror."

The wizard slapped him on the back and began to walk across toward the now emerging hostiles in the trees, shoulders set and face determined. George quickly swallowed his fear, moving to the center of their small group and trying to keep his wife's muted cries out of his mind so he could stay focused and save her. Robau was quickly grabbed around the biceps by two large, tattooed men and was pulled through the foliage as he shot them a withering glare and tried to shake their grips free to no avail.

And in that moment, with the unknown hostiles hiding just behind the foliage and his wife in labor behind him, George S. Kirk had never felt so helpless.

* * *

Richard Robau was feeling pretty damn helpless.

He knew from experience that there was no way he was making it out of this situation unharmed, probably not even alive. What unnerved him was that they had gotten a tip off that something was happening here tonight and no one had any idea what, and even now he still had not the faintest idea who these people were or what they wanted. And damn, they were strong. Robau liked to think that as a senior Auror he was able to hold his own in a fight, magical creature or not. But no matter how much he tried to pry his arms from their grip, their fingers only curled tighter and tighter around his biceps.

After a minute or so of walking, he was thrown in front of an imposing, robed figure with an almost bored expression on his face. He looked the same as the others with a tattooed face and long, pointed ears, but you could easily tell that he was the one in charge by the large berth his men gave him as well as his commanding presence. As he looked up from his position on the ground, the first man that had spoken to them in the clearing stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the other figure. "State your name and position."

"Richard Robau," he grunted, standing up shakily. "Senior Auror of the Ministry of Magic. You brought me here to speak with your leader, so unless that's you I'd suggest you introduce us."

The man, creature, whatever he was glanced back at the imposing figure behind him. "I will speak on behalf of our leader, Nero."

Robau decided that he was going to die anyways, so he might as well go out with gusto. "Yeah, well I don't care enough to speak to you. Let Nero speak for himself." All of a sudden, the man came up and grabbed him by the front of his robes, pulling his toes off of the ground. _Damn, he's strong,_ Robau couldn't help think as he gasped for air.

"What is the current date?" The man growled, eyes narrowing.

His eyebrows knit together. "What is the date?" he breathed, baffled by the simplicity of the question. The man's grip only tightened on his robes as an answer, and Robau grunted out, "January 4th, 2013."

He stared into the background to see Nero's eyes narrow. With renewed strength, he began kicking and thrashing against the man that was restraining him until he was finally grabbed around the arms again by two and securely restrained. His eyebrows were drawn together in a look of gritty determination as the man waved his wand seemingly produced out of nowhere and a glowing image appeared in front of him. "Do you know this man?" He asked.

Robau regarded the visage. The man in question had a soft, weathered face with a severe yet gentle expression, framed by a straight fringe of hair across his forehead. With some surprise, Robau saw that he had the same pointed ears that these creatures did; albeit slightly smaller, there was a definite resemblance. There were no tattoos on this man's face, however. He looked to be nearing very old age. After a moment, Robau shook his head. "I do not recognize him."

Suddenly, Nero stepped forward and growled, "Where is Spock?"

Richard Robau narrowed his eyes and stared directly into Nero's dark ones. "I don't know who he is, and even if I did I wouldn't tell you."

With that, Nero let out a feral roar and Robau barely had a moment to brace himself before he heard, "_AVADA KE-"_

* * *

One of the witches stood up suddenly from Winona's side, turned to George, and breathed out, "Robau is dead."

George clenched his fists as he heard the desperation and fear creeping into her voice. "We need to go!" he yelled over his wife's cries at the man still working on the portkey, who merely nodded to acknowledge that he understood, his brow creasing in concentration as he cast the spell over the jacket. George glanced at Winona and saw her face contorted and her fingers clenched onto the grass beneath her as if holding on for dear life.

He ran over to the portkey. "How long?" He asked the man, who was now regarding the jacket with an almost solemn finality.

The man, an expert in magical transportation, looked up with a pained expression on his face. "It's done… but with the baby we're one over capacity. Normally pregnancy wouldn't be an issue, but with the baby so close we can't risk it. "

It took a moment for the statement to register. _We're one over capacity._ George swallowed, and then realized that they were dealing with wizards, not just muggles like him. "Someone could apparate, right?"

"That's the catch, sir," the man said. "There's been so much residual magical energy floating around the area that it's not safe enough to apparate. Someone would end up splicing off something important."

George ran through the process in his mind. Robau had put him in charge, and as the current officer in command… He took a deep breath. "I'll stay behind. They might not hurt me since I'm not a wizard, and I'm not an idiot. I can take care of myself, and I don't know anything important. They have no reason to torture me."

"But it's not your duty to-"

"Robau put me in charge," George pressed. "And if I have to order you to leave I will."

Realizing defeat and the power of a confident commander, the man acquiesced and nodded. Not wasting any time, George shouted out, "We need to leave, now!"

With surprising speed, the wizards including Winona gathered around the portkey. For a brief moment, their eyes met and as she saw him standing outside of the circle she suddenly understood. "George, you can't! It's almost – it'll need you –"

George cupped his wife's head in his hands. "I love you, Winona, and I always will. I love our child, and I always will. You know that. I'll be fine." He put as much sincerity into his voice as possible, but the last promise rang empty. George had the perception and ability to read a situation of a trained soldier, and there was very little chance he would escape. But to save his wife and child… there was little he wouldn't do in order to ensure their safety.

The transportation wizard began counting down. "Three…two…one…"

"_George!"_ Winona cried as the Asian healer forced her hand onto her husband's jacket.

And then they were gone, and George was alone. He could hear movement in the trees far away, and realized that they had taken Robau farther than he had expected, which gave him a slight head start. He pulled the pistol out of his pocket that he hadn't revealed earlier, the one that he so often carried with him just for the safety and comfort of its ability. He took one last glance at the rustling foliage across the clearing, and then began to backtrack and run.

He could hear them behind him; saw the first shot of green light fly past him as he dodged to avoid a tree branch. Some vague part of his mind recognized it as the killing curse, and he knew that if he was finished. Even so, he loosed off several shots from his pistol and was surprised to hear a cry of pain. It seemed that whatever they were, like most wizards they weren't accustomed to muggle weapons. They could call them crude, but they were horribly effective.

He saw a cave and ducked into it, hopefully buying himself a minute, or even 30 seconds. That was all he needed. The mirror was already growing warm in his pocket, and he knew that his wife was thinking the same thing that he was. He pulled it out and breathed out, "Winona."

His wife's face filled the glass, and George gasped as he saw the small, wet bundle swaddled in his jacket, the one that had just saved his wife's life. She saw that he was safe for the moment, and her eyes lit up. The baby's soft cries could be barely heard through the connection, and George couldn't help but smile at the beautiful sound that for a moment he hadn't thought he would ever hear. "What should we name him?" He managed to choke out.

Winona brushed away a piece of hair, a sheen of sweat visible on her forehead. "After your father?"  
George couldn't help but laugh, and knew that it would be his last. "Tiberius? No way, that's the worst." He paused for a moment. "After yours?"

His wife brushed a piece of wispy hair off of the baby's forehead, looking at his face. "Jim. James Tiberius Kirk." They both laughed. "That's a name for the ages."

George let himself smile, but he could hear Nero's men approaching the cave. "Winona, I need you to know that I love you. Just…" he paused. "Don't forget me, okay?"

Panic crossed her face. "No George, I love you, you can't…" She choked on the end of the sentence, the words refusing to come out. "He has your eyes," she murmured, turning the mirror as tears began to fall freely.

Nero's men were at the mouth of the cave now. "He's beautiful," George managed to say, and the last thing he saw before the green flash of light was two bright, electric blue eyes.

His eyes.

* * *

_Eleven Years Later_

James T. Kirk was pretty sure that there had never been a happier day in his life than the one that he received his Hogwarts letter.

He had always been confident, cocky even in his belief that he was destined for something. Sure, that something very well might have been driving Frank's prize car off the cliff near their house (he had thought about it enough), or being the smartest kid ever sent to the principal's office for misbehavior, but he had never imagined…magic. While most kids had dreamed of fantasy and adventure, when Jim was young he had been surprisingly pragmatic and calculating and hadn't indulged in dreams like his peers. That wasn't to say that he paid attention to anything or even cared for that matter, but merely that he didn't care for dreams because he knew that there was a good chance that they wouldn't come true.

It didn't help that his childhood was strained and stressed, his mother raising him and his brother alone for several years before finally giving in and marrying a man who could care less about her kids just so she could escape it all. Jim wasn't even sure what his mother did exactly. He just knew that whenever he needed her, she was gone. She had told him once that she was continuing his father's legacy in the only way he could, but in an unusually insightful manner for an eight year old he retorted that he _was_ his father's legacy so why wasn't she staying with him.

She hadn't talked about her work with him since then, and had only become more and more distant. By the time he turned eleven, Jim was considering doing something drastic just so someone would notice. The only attention he received was Frank either screaming at him to do something or his teacher scolding him for misbehavior. Often at school or at home, he would find himself in the center of strange events that he was almost always blamed for. Once, he had been irritated with one of his classmates and was finding it difficult controlling himself and when he turned around the fish tank had frozen solid. Another time at home, Frank had been screaming at his brother, drunk as drunk could be, and all of a sudden the lamp next to Frank had shattered and embedded pieces of glass in his stepfather's skin. People began to stay away from him.

Not to say that he hadn't gotten used to it. He was strong, intelligent and could take care of himself, which he did most of the time. It was merely that he wished he had an actual father, someone who would take him places and tuck him in and pat his shoulder when he did something good, not a freeloader like Frank. But when that letter came… his entire life changed.

He had come home from school, set his backpack down and tiptoed back towards the kitchen and past Frank's sleeping form sprawled out on the armchair (his _Dad's_ armchair) with a beer on the table and the TV playing on low volume. He grabbed a soda from the fridge and walked back outside the house, towards the quarry where he spent more of his time than anywhere else. It was close to his house, but private enough that even if Frank cared enough to look he probably wouldn't find him. Sometimes, Sam would come with him, but more often than not his brother would elect to either stay at some or go out with his own friends, which was fine with Jim. He didn't care enough to wait around for his brother to come home. If Sam needed, him he knew where he would be.

In a matter of minutes he was sitting on the edge of the quarry with his legs dangling off of the edge. It was his favorite place to sit and think and not be disturbed. He took a sip of the soda he had grabbed, and looked out at the wide Iowa sky. For a while, he simply sat and stared across the horizon, enjoying the peace and quiet. Jim Kirk may have been somewhat of an ostentatious child, but he still appreciated silence and solitude just as much as anyone else. Anything was better than being stuck at home with Frank.

He knew the landscape well since he came here so often, so he didn't really expect a large, white object streaking across the sky. At first, he thought it was an airplane but then he realized that it was flying right at him. In a couple of seconds he could see a large, pure white owl coming towards him clutching something in its beak. He squinted. Never before had he ever seen this kind of bird. Sure, they had owls in Iowa, but they were few and far between and none of them were pure white.

It landed next to him in an uncharacteristic lack of fear for humans and deposited its package in his lap. It moved away from him, flying low above the ground but staying close to him all the same. Bemusedly, Jim looked at the package sitting in his lap. It was a thick envelope with a red seal keeping it closed. He flipped it over and looked at the address. "_James Tiberius Kirk, Riverside Quarry, Iowa"._ His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Was this some type of prank that Sam was playing on him, or one of the guys at school?

Not able to resist the temptation, he slowly broke the seal and opened the envelope. Pulling out the first readily available piece of paper, he murmured aloud the text located there. "Mr. Kirk, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." He continued reading, occasionally mouthing along the words, getting more confused as he went. The letter was handwritten, but obviously a form letter right down to the signature at the bottom with an official title.

Something caught his eye through the paper, and he furrowed his eyebrows, flipping the paper over. On the back was a more personal note, written in a slanted, flowing script. As he read, Jim's eyebrows drew closer and closer together, the entire situation seeming to make less and less sense.

"_Jim,_

_ I am aware that your mother is away with the Ministry and will be for several months more, and I regret that she will not be able to see you off to your first year at Hogwarts. I have arranged for one of my colleagues to escort you to buy your supplies as well as to King's Cross for your trip to the school. They will arrive on September 13__th__, two days before the start of term. Enjoy the rest of your summer._

_ -Headmaster Christopher Pike"_

For a moment Jim just stared at the letter, nothing making sense. He pulled out the rest of the envelope's contents, seeing a list of required school supplies as well as general guidelines for the school such as pets and such. He wasn't sure what to think. If it was a prank, it was an elaborate one to write everything out as well as train or rent an owl that would deliver straight to him as well as stay in the area once it was done with its job. Whatever it was, he knew that just in case, he was going to call his mom. Even if none of it was true – which it probably wasn't – she'd still want to know about it.

He stood up and brushed the dirt off of his jeans, grabbing the letter in the process. Grudgingly, he began to walk back to his house, disappointed that he had only been there for only an hour. Usually, he would try to stay out for several hours at the very least, avoiding home until the last possible second. He had friends, sure, but it always seemed like they were walking on eggshells around him. Everyone in the small town knew that George Kirk had died early in Sam's life and at the advent of Jim's, and Winona was always gone. No one wanted to say anything… wrong, and Jim hated it. Sometimes he would go into town, but the majority of the time he just wandered around by himself.

It was about 5:30, right in the middle of the time Winona had set away for her sons to contact her if they needed to. She had given them a cell phone to share and as Jim tiptoed inside just in case Frank was still sleeping he grabbed it from its usual place on the kitchen counter near the outlet. He took it back outside and walked to the tree close to his house. Sitting down, he dialed the number and listened to the dial tone. He was still clutching the letter in his hand.

The phone rang for almost thirty seconds, and for a moment Jim thought that she wasn't going to answer, but then he heard a small click and someone pick up on the other end. "Hello?" His mother's voice came through the other end.

Jim swallowed. "Mom?"

"Jim, is that you?" She asked immediately, sounding mildly surprised. Rarely did her sons ever call her.

He sighed, rattling his breath through the speakers. "Yeah, it's me. Listen, I have a question-"

"Couldn't either of you ever call to just talk?" She interrupted him. "I miss the two of you."

Jim felt something clench in his chest, but dismissed it. "You could always stay here."

There was a pregnant pause, until he heard her sigh come through the connection. "You know I can't do that. What is it you need?"

He unfolded the letter again in his lap. "I was out today, and an owl came and gave me a letter. I think it's a prank, but there was a note that said they knew you were away, so I thought I'd check."

He heard her breath hitch in her throat. "You got a letter…from an owl?"

Jim's brow furrowed. "Yeah. It said I got accepted to a magic school or something."

There was an unusual amount of silence for even their awkward conversations. When she spoke again, her voice was tight and strained. "What was the name?"

Jim searched again on the letter, finally finding what he was looking for. "Erm… Hogwarts."

Nothing. Jim couldn't even hear his mother breathe, until she tersely said, "I'm going to come home."

Jim's eyebrows shot up his forehead. "Why? It's not serious…" She didn't answer. "Mom, you're kidding. You have to be kidding."

She sighed. "Jim, I… we'll talk when I get there."

She promptly hung up, leaving her youngest son speechless on the other end of the line. His thoughts were whirling. Magic wasn't real, and his mom certainly didn't know anything about it. If she had, she would've saved his father, done something. There had to be something even a pregnant woman going into stress induced labor could do. He still didn't know the details of his father's death, but his mom had always told him that his father was a hero, someone to be proud of. He couldn't fathom anyone just standing by with something as free and powerful as magic that could have, should have saved a life.

He rifled through the papers again, looking at the supplies this. It looked like a lot of books, some miscellaneous supplies like a cauldron and brass scales, but at the bottom, something caught his eye. _One wand_. After a moment, he merely laughed. This had to be a prank, and he couldn't believe that his mom was getting so worked up about it. He didn't know anywhere you could buy a wand. He pulled out the cellphone again and began dialing his mom's number, telling her not to come. She was halfway across the world, or at least it felt like that with how little he ever saw her.

Jim was about to press the call button when he heard a sharp crack from near the house. He jumped up, startled by the unexpected noise, and his jaw dropped when he saw his mother standing near the kitchen window looking frenzied and slightly disheveled, wearing the same jacket that she always did. She quickly shoved something in her back pocket before straightening herself out and forcing a smile at Jim upon realizing that he had seen her. He merely stood there, mouth gaping and unable to form words.

She sighed and walked over, ruffling his hair like she had used to albeit in a more longing way than usual. She grabbed the papers off of the ground and took his hand, surprising him. "Let's take a walk."

He closed his mouth and nodded, walking alongside her. "How did you-"

"In time," she interrupted. "I'll explain soon. We need to go someplace quiet, think you know anywhere?" There was a twinkle in her eye for the briefest moment, and Jim was reminded of some of the early days of his childhood when she had still tried to put on her best face.

He nodded slowly, knowing that just by the way she had asked the question his mom already knew about his favorite haunt. They made their way to the quarry, not saying anything but only walking. The only reason for his mom's sudden appearance that Jim could fathom was that she had been nearby, very nearby, and had been avoiding them until something important happened. He frowned. That also made this letter important…he had a lot of questions.

They sat down together at the edge where he often watched the sun set or rise. Winona immediately began rifling through the papers, her expression remaining as impassive as it had been since she had arrived. After a moment, she took a deep breath and began to speak. "Jim, there are things that I haven't told you and your brother. Things that I didn't think I would have had to."

Jim looked back up at her. "Are they important?"

She bit her lip. "I didn't think they would be." She ran a hair through her hair, looking slightly frazzled. "Jim, I don't really know exactly how to explain all of this so you're just going to have to bear with me. Can you do that?"

He nodded, not saying anything. She exhaled and began worrying the edge of her clothing. "I began attending this school when I was your age, and continued until I was almost eighteen years old. It's very real, Jim."

He inhaled sharply, staring into his mother's eyes. "You're kidding. Magic isn't real, is it?"

She sighed, looking away. "Magic is very real, Jim. Just not for everyone."

"And you're saying that you can do magic."

She paused for a moment, and then pulled something long and dark out of her back pocket. She pointed it at one of the papers sitting on the ground and said, "Wingardium Leviosa." To Jim's utter surprise, the paper gently floated up into the air, following the motions of his mother's tool. He examined it, and then looked at the paper that was gently floating in the air.

_One wand._

He reeled, scooting back slightly. The entire time, his eyes were focused on the paper and his mother's wand controlling it until she set it gently down once again. He leveled his gaze, looking up at her. "Can I do that?"

She put the wand back in her pocket. "With teaching, yes. To be quite honest, I hadn't expected you to be a..." she forced the word out of her mouth as if it was difficult to say, "…wizard since your brother never displayed any signs." She paused for a moment. "Your father wasn't one, and neither were my parents.

He sat back, digesting the information. "Is that how you got here? Magic?"

She nodded hesitantly. "It's called apparation, and it's very difficult to use over a long distance…" she trailed off, looking at the ground.

It took him a minute to understand, and then anger boiled through him. "You could've come home at any time that you wanted and you stay out there for eleven months of the year? You abandoned us, and you could have come back at _any time_?"

She looked up at him with sad eyes. "I wish I could have but…" she stopped, looking for the right words.

Jim stepped in. "But what? I look too much like him? Do you don't like Frank? Or maybe you just can't stand the house without _him_ here?"

Winona looked down at the ground, unable to say anything that would justify her actions. "Jim, I….I'm so sorry."

He stood there fuming for a minute before realizing that there was nothing he could do that would bring back the eleven years of his life he had lost without his one parent truly there. He sat down again, not looking at the woman beside him before quietly saying. "So…I go to this school after the summer?"

She smiled, the corner of her mouth turning up just a bit. "If you choose…yes."

He thought for a moment. "Is Sam a… wizard too?" He asked, the word feeling odd and unfamiliar in his mouth.

His mother looked sad for a moment, and shook her head. "He never displayed any signs of magic, which is why I never thought you would either. Your father wasn't a wizard and neither were my parents, so to have a magical child was a very slim chance. I guess I never saw any signs with you…or I just never looked and I'm sorry for that."

He sat for a moment, and then looked up. "Can I do any magic right now?"

His mother bit her lip. "Yes and no. I'm sure that at some point it happened, I just wasn't here…" She paused for a second, and then quickly glossed over the moment. "Right now, your magic is raw and will respond to your emotions. It's difficult to control until you've been properly taught."

Jim quickly thought back to the incidents that had occurred throughout his childhood of unexplainable events that he had always been blamed for in some way. In hindsight, he could easily explain it as magic, and he couldn't believe it.

"You know, you're taking this pretty well," his mother said, breaking his reverie. He smiled a crooked smile, and she reciprocated, holding out her hand to help him up after she had stood herself.

"I'm going to have to tell Frank something else to explain your absence. How does military school sound?" She said, obviously knowing of her second husband's distaste for both of her sons.

"As long as I don't actually have to go," he paused, smiling slightly. "Military school sounds great."

Her face lit up at the humor, finally getting to see her son smile for the first time in several months, possibly years. "I can't come back with you now since Frank would wonder why I'm back so soon. I'll be back within the week hopefully, but my work doesn't allow me much freedom."

He frowned slightly. "Where do you work? Can you tell me now?"

"I'm an auror," she explained. "Kind of like magical law enforcement. I work wherever they need me. When I'm not actively working on something, I'm usually in London at the Ministry of Magic."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "There's a Ministry of Magic in London? Why not New York or D.C. or something?"

"Most wizarding families are British," she explained. "The majority of the pureblood families and magical blood runs there. Believe it or not, there are actually few wizards in America unless they or an ancestor came to America from Europe."

His eyebrows drew together. "Where's the school?"

Winona bit her lip. "The train leaves from London. You won't be able to return home for the duration of the year."

Jim broke out in a smile. "Fantastic. Am I going to be the only American there, then?"

His mother thought for a moment. "One of few, I would assume. There may be several others, though. I was one of the only ones in my class." She thought for a moment. "Jim, there are some wizards that have prejudices that the refuse to let go of."

He laughed. "What, because I'm American?"

"No, because your father was a muggle," she replied gravely.

Jim raised an eyebrow. "What's a muggle?"  
"A non-magical person," she explained. "The term isn't derogatory; it's just what's most commonly used. While your father's name commands a certain degree of respect within the wizarding world, many families that have preserved an entire line of wizards and call themselves purebloods still will call out your muggle heritage." She paused for a moment. "That doesn't mean much, though. There have been brilliant witches and wizards that have been muggle born. There have been brilliant muggles."

Jim felt confusion flash across his face. "Why would any wizards know Dad if he was a muggle?"

His mother smiled wistfully, staring off into the distance. "Your father saved many lives including mine… and yours." She paused for a moment, as if remembering her husband's smile, his laugh, and the look of gritty determination as he sacrificed himself to save others. She looked at Jim, and he could tell by the way her eyes softened ever so slightly that she was seeing his father, not him. "Jim, you have to promise me that you'll work hard and do your best at this school. It'll be difficult, and unlike anything you've ever done before."

Jim smiled his childish crooked smile, and for the first time in several months, grabbed his mother's hand. "Mom, you can trust me." What Jim didn't know was that his mother had been thinking the same thing he was at the very moment she had gotten her letter.

_I can't wait to get out of here._

He brushed the thought away and stood up, his mother following suit. "I guess I'll see you again soon?"

Winona smiled softly. "Hopefully. I'm afraid I won't be able to see you off, but it looks like the Headmaster has that covered." The corner of her mouth twitched. "I still wish he would have notified me that he would be picking up my son, but I know that I'm difficult to contact." She winked at Jim. "Not everyone has a cell phone. Which reminds me…" She rummaged around in an inside pocket of the jacket and eventually pulled out a mirror, slightly worn around the edges but with the surface clean and polished minus a jagged scratch that ran across the upper right corner of the frame.

He grabbed it out of her hands and looked at his reflection, then looked back at her to see her holding an identical one. She smiled briefly. "It's called a two way mirror. All you have to do is say my name and then you'll be able to see me."

He turned it over, and saw an inscription on the back. _To George, from Winona_. He gently ran his finger over the engraving in understanding. "This was dad's?"

She nodded slowly. "This was how we used to talk when I was away at work. He always had it on him."

For a moment, Jim closed his eyes, imagining his father's hands on the mirror and his mother's younger face on the glass. The late nights, the furtive conversations during whatever time they could find, and the connection that broke through the glass in between the two people. When he opened them, he could see his mother doing the same looking fondly at him, remembering the same thing. Unconsciously, she grabbed the hem of the still ragged jacket that she had refused to let go of, even taking it with her to formal events and all of those times Jim got sent to principal's office and she was actually there to bail him out. It was a gesture that he recognized all too well. She often did it when she was thinking of his father, and it hadn't slipped under his notice.

Jim tried to savor the moment. It was rare that he actually got some time with his mom, and even though he knew she was still seeing George instead of Jim, he understood. She was still here, and that was better than anything he had ever gotten the past several years. He held the mirror close to his chest and watched as she snapped out of her trance and smiled fondly at him. His mom seemed proud of him, and now he had a purpose in life rather than just sitting at the quarry waiting for something to happen. He looked into her eyes. "I'll talk to you later, then? You promise?"

She nodded sincerely. "Yes, Jim. I know that I haven't been the best, but from now on we'll stay in touch. Sam too." She added upon seeing her son's raised eyebrow. Sam had always claimed that he didn't care about her, didn't care about anybody, but Jim knew it wasn't true. She looked at the battered watch on her wrist, then in a rare moment of affection leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. "I love you, Jim. I'll see you soon."

And then there was a sharp crack and she was gone, presumably back to where she had been before. It was just Jim's luck that Frank woke up to the noise, shouting, "What did you break this time?" Jim sighed, but nothing could dampen his mood. The date was July 30th. There was only one month left to go.

**A/N: Hi everyone! Most of you probably don't know me since I haven't written any Star Trek or Harry Potter fanfiction before. I've been huge on Harry Potter since I was a kid, and I love HP crossovers. I just recently got into the Star Trek fandom after seeing Into Darkness. In no way do I claim to be a Trekkie but I am a fan and this idea popped into my head and I had to write it. Please tell me if there's anything regarding Star Trek that I need to fix. I would greatly appreciate it since I'm fairly new to the fandom. Anyways, thanks for reading this chapter! I'm not sure how far this story will go, so I thought I'd just gauge a response first. Sorry it's so boring, but I needed to kind of set up my universe here. Oh, I'm also sorry Jim sounds so whiny. It just kind of came out that way :P**

**Also, if you read this PPBK, please don't kill me. Thanks.**

**~haaschiibrownii**


	2. Chapter 2

The day that Spock received his Hogwarts letter was one of the few days that he had ever let himself become emotionally compromised.

He was eleven at the time, knew he was a wizard, and had been expecting it for a while, but had been out of the house when it arrived. Both of his parents had agreed that it would be beneficial for him to learn about muggle culture in addition to his wizarding heritage in order to have a greater appreciation for their academic system as well as their sciences. His father, Sarek, was the ambassador to the muggle Prime Minister. In the past, the Minister of Magic had been the one to make the journey, but with the increasing list of responsibilities that were being thrown on the Minister's plate, he had appointed Sarek as the official liaison between the wizarding world and the muggle one. Thus, it was only logical that Spock, and Sarek to some degree, could become more aware of the culture and science of the world that was such a close counterpart to theirs.

Spock often found that he was ahead of his peers and had a natural proclivity towards mathematics as well as the sciences. Briefly, he had considered pursuing a career in the field of science rather than magic, but had instead decided to follow his heritage as well as his parents and study magic once he turned eleven. He had observed both of his parents using magic on a day to day basis and had even performed some uncontrolled magic himself, but nowhere in the art did he see where muggle physics were applied. It would have been illogical to pursue a field of study that contradicted one of his future abilities.

Despite his unusual intelligence as well as mature mannerisms, there were other things that set Spock apart from his peers. His name was one such factor. While in the wizarding world, historic names as well as family names were common among pureblood families, but in the muggle world, anything out of the ordinary was immediately a source for ridicule. His physical appearance was another. He was shorter than many of his classmates, who had already begun to hit their growth spurts, and his eyebrows were sharp and severe compared to those of his peers. But above all else, it was his ears that really got to them.

Spock had been born with long, pointed ears that tapered to a slim point as opposed to the usual rounded pinna that other humans exhibited. He had been examined by Medi-Witches, healers, and muggle doctors alike, but none had been able to fully explain the phenomenon since no one had been able to isolate a particular gene or spell that caused it. Eventually it had been chalked up to a genetic defect by muggle doctors and an overexposure to loose magical energy during his mother's pregnancy by wizard healers, but each conclusion was really a halfhearted to explain the unexplainable. Whatever the cause, his muggle classmates never stopped teasing him for it. He had gotten used to it after a while, but still wished at times that he had been born normal. After an episode in the first grade where Spock had set his teacher's grading stack on fire on accident after an emotional outburst, his father had sat him down and instructed him to control his emotions.

_"Emotions rule us, Spock," he said, laying a hand on his young son's shoulder as they exited school that day. "Since you possess powers that muggles cannot even fathom, it is your duty to control your emotions in order to keep this ability secret."_

_ The child had rounded on his father. "What am I supposed to do, father? Allow them to continue this?"_

_ At this, Sarek took his son by the shoulders, kneeled down, and looked him the eyes. "You cannot rise to anything they say, because it does not matter. You are above that, Spock. You are different."_

_ His son looked up at him, young and raw, and whispered. "I don't want to be different."_

_ The older man sighed, motioning for his son to sit down on a stone bench near a copse of trees. "The things that set us apart from others, even other wizards, also define who we are. Everything that happens to us serves a purpose, whether it is to teach us a lesson or to make us stronger. But we only become stronger if we can exhibit control in the experiences that try us the most."_

_ Spock stared at the ground. "I just… I'm so tired of it all. I didn't ask for any of this."_

_ "Yes, but it was what you were dealt with at your birth. All that we have power over now is how we adapt and embrace it. Their words only have power if you allow them to; if you allow yourself to be emotionally compromised."_

The words his father spoke had stung, but over time the young wizard had realized that they were undeniably correct. In the bullying attempts that had followed, he had realized that they could not elicit an emotional response from him unless he allowed them to do so. He was an exemplary student, furthering his advancements into mathematics and the sciences on his own volition and working to gain a more advanced understanding of the concepts since he would not study them after his sixth year of schooling. His teachers regarded him in the highest, which only made his peers detest him more. He had no friends, but that was of little consequence to him. Occasionally his mother asked him if he would like to have someone over or have a birthday party, but he found the idea frivolous and unnecessary.

Overall, he was alone and he quite frankly preferred it that way. His father had taught him how to be logical; how to look at things from an outside position and evaluate the situation without letting personal emotions get in the way, and it did nothing but aid him in his endeavors. He began to soak up all of the information that he could, muggle and magical, and eventually was well beyond his classmates and the courses in general at school. In preparation for his wizarding education, his mother had begun to teach him some of the spells that she used in everyday life. He was not allowed to attempt to perform them, but he assumed that he would be far ahead of his wizard classmates upon entrance at Hogwarts. He had encountered several of his father's colleagues' children, and immediately knew that there would be a wide variety of peers at his new school, and that he would be different from the majority of them.

Despite all of this, the fact still remained that he was a child, albeit one with magical abilities and an unheard of amount of self-discipline. After completing his sixth year of muggle schooling, he would be leaving for Hogwarts in the fall. After many well planned out statements and an expertly crafted and thoroughly logical argument, he had convinced his parents to allow him to take a science class at the local high school during the summer before he began at Hogwarts. Since he would not be furthering his muggle education after he began his magical one, it was not unreasonable to try and learn as much as he could.

It was an advanced physics course, and he was enjoying the challenge. Many of his classmates were taking it again since they had received bad marks during the school year due to the course being above their level, which only made then detest Spock even more since he was flourishing under the challenge. Every time they attempted to tease him about his age, his stature, his ears, he merely raised one eyebrow condescendingly and returned back to his work. It eventually got to the point where the high school students could barely stand him, even though he kept to himself for the majority of the time and only interacted with the other students to correct them in their miscalculations or when they were forced to work on a group lab together, an exercise which he often found himself leading.

It was the last day of the course, July 30th. Their class lasted approximately six hours each day, and they had spent nearly five of their six hours of them taking their final. It was a stressful day for many of the students in the class, but Spock had found himself to be well-prepared for the questions that were asked. He had paid attention in the class and had done all of the required work unlike many of his classmates, so it was reasonable to assume that for the students who took the class seriously the test would be significantly less difficult. After the test was over, they still had an hour left of class so Spock began testing some of the calculations he had been working on at home on a force table in the back of the classroom. Perhaps he should have noticed that the teacher had left in order to finish grading their tests before the class was out, but he had become too entrenched in his work to pay much attention.

"Spock."

Sighing, he switched his focus from the force table in front of him to the wall, knowing exactly who it was. Three of the high school students had taken a particular distaste to his presence, not aided by the fact that he had beat them on aptitude tests when he was four grades below them. He remembered his father's words as he always did and spoke calmly and coolly. "This is your thirty-seventh attempt to elicit an emotional response from me. Have you prepared new insults?"

To this, the boys merely laughed, and as Spock finally turned around he saw their informal leader slightly step forward. "You know, it's amazing that you even made it through this class. I thought you were just in here so you wouldn't be in the house."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Why would my presence here be preferred over my presence at my own home?"

In response, the boy cocked an eyebrow, clearly mocking his younger peer's most often used facial expression. "What do you think your mother does when your father is gone?"

At this, the younger boy's gaze narrowed. "What are you insinuating?"

The other boy smirked, knowing that he was close to his goal. "I'm sure that she just sits around and cleans the house all day with no company whatsoever. Seems like a woman would get lonely without her husband."

Spock clenched his fists, but said nothing. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction, because he knew that was exactly what they wanted. By now, about half of the class was watching them, but not doing anything to stop what was happening. Spock's tormentor, now on a roll, kept plowing on. "But of course, there's some company that you can't have over with your son sitting in the living room."

His entire body was tense now, and he had to fight the instinct to retaliate. They were merely trying to rile him up, and if he lost control then they had succeeded. He had to uphold what his father had told him, but it was becoming increasingly difficult, borderline impossible.

"You know, I bet that's why your ears are pointed. Your _dad_ certainly doesn't have pointed ears." At this point, the majority of the class was watching the standoff from their seats. Spock was visibly shaking now, fighting to keep his gaze straight. The other boy began laughing, his friends quickly joining in. He acted as if he was merely joking with them. "But what else could you expect? She's just a whore."

Finally, Spock couldn't hold it in any longer. With an almost feral yell, he jumped onto the ringleader, tackling him to the ground. The other boy, although much larger, fell with a surprised, "_Oof!"_. Immediately, he began to retaliate by wildly throwing punches at Spock, catching a glancing blow to his cheekbone where a bruise began to form almost immediately. Despite his disadvantage of being almost four years younger, Spock was holding his own, throwing swift and powerful punches through his anger.

For several moments, they were alternating positions on the floor of the classroom, but Spock pinned his attacker's arms on the ground with his knees and began throwing attack after attack onto the older boy's face. Suddenly, the force table that Spock had been using collapsed violently, the small frame clattering off of the lab desk it was on and the disk flying into a nearby cabinet. Spock didn't notice what had happened, or if he did, couldn't bring himself to care enough to show that he had. He simply continued landing punches onto his opponent's face, rage clouding his eyes. The students in the class looked on; some stunned, some cheering for the younger boy, others merely enjoying the fight. After a moment, the older boy's friends came to their senses and quickly moved towards the fray, ripping Spock off of the boy and throwing him into the wall.

He winced as the impact knocked the breath out of him, but sat up shakily, bracing himself with his right hand. His lip had split, and he quickly wiped the blood away, not wanting them to find out about _that _difference as well. A greenish bruise was forming on his left cheekbone, but that could easily be passed off as a trick of the light. Anger roiled still within him, and he gazed at the boy still groaning on the floor and his friends with hatred. It was then that they all noticed the teacher standing in the doorway, their finals in her hand.

She stared at both of them for a moment, then said almost resignedly, "Boys, come with me."

* * *

When Sarek arrived, Spock had already cleaned up in the bathroom and all evidence of the fight with the exception of the bruise on his cheek was gone. He was sitting on a bench outside of the principal's office, and he only held his father's gaze for moment before breaking it and letting his eyes fall to the floor. After several seconds, Sarek stiffly sat down next to his son. "Spock, you allowed your emotions to get the best of you."

Shamefully, Spock shifted his gaze to match his father's. "What else was I supposed to do?"

Sarek sighed, shifting his weight and pondering his response. "Even though words may sting, you know that it is vital to control our impulses and control our emotions rather than letting them control us."

Spock's raised both of his eyebrows in exasperation. "They were insulting mother, insulting her… honor." He swallowed, the older boy's taunts coming back to him as his entire body tensed slightly.

For a moment, all was silent until Sarek placed a hand on his son's shoulder. Spock jumped at the contact, not accustomed to the display of affection or comfort. In a severe but understanding tone, he said, "Even though our motivations may be honorable, we must ensure that our actions are as well or nothing we do has meaning."

The younger boy didn't move, letting his father's hand remain on his shoulder for just a bit longer. "What would you have done?" He mumbled quietly, gazing at the floor.

"Nothing," Sarek said, and at his son's puzzled expression, began to elaborate. "While your mother means just as much to me as she does to you, the only reaction that they wanted was to goad you into action. If you act upon their wishes, then their cruel words mean something. But if you abstain, then they are meaningless and null."

Spock was still, emotions roiling inside of him. He understood his father's words, yet… he could not imagine refraining from defending the things that he believed in, defending the things that he loved. "Father," he blurted out without meaning to. "Why did you marry mother?"

Sarek was taken aback by the question, and how seemingly off topic it seemed in the context of their conversation. "We were compatible, and she was a gentle, but fierce witch with a proclivity towards children. She had spent time with muggle children on a mission trip; a bid to understand their world. As I am ambassador to the muggle Prime Minister, it was… logical."

Words of the past came back to Spock, things that he had learned from his father long ago. _Logic, _he remembered the man saying, _is infallible. In the majority of situations, logic will solve any problem in the most efficient way possible. _But what was logic over love? The boy sighed, knowing that his father was reluctant to admit it, and he wouldn't say anything until he was ready to. "I understand," he said heavily but dryly, keeping the emotions out of his voice.

Sarek nodded stiffly, acknowledging his son's words. Quietly, as Spock re-laced his shoes, he stole a glance at his son. He was on the cusp of manhood, already so much more responsible than many his age and even older. While he would not admit it aloud, he was proud of his son for what he had stood up for today; proud that he had the emotional capacity needed to feel so deeply for someone; proud even that he had held his own in a fight against a boy many years older than him. He caught a glimpse of the green-tinted bruise on his left cheekbone and the small split in his lip. He was lucky that his son was able to treat his own injuries and was not required to go to the nurse's office. Along with his son's ears, they had discovered that his blood was different from anyone's they had ever seen in the sense that it was based on copper rather than iron. It had puzzled doctors and healers alike, and neither group was able to explain it. There had been tests run on him and Amanda, and while it was confirmed that they both shared a great deal of DNA with their son, there were certain things that were just slightly different. It was as if his son's DNA had spontaneously mutated, but the doctors had not been able to isolate a particular factor that had caused it all. Spock was merely a miracle of human evolution or mutation, although no one was quite sure whether his differences enhanced him, were a detriment, or simply were just there.

Broken out of his thoughts, Sarek looked down to see his son looking up at him expectantly. He nodded. "We are permitted to leave, given the circumstances. You should also be notified that you have passed your examination as well as your class with ample room to spare. I am proud of you. There is also one more matter to discuss."

Spock merely nodded in acknowledgement, his father's praise seeming bittersweet. He heard a rustling, and was surprised to see his father pull an envelope out of his pocket. It appeared to be printed on expensive paper and was a rich cream color with a red seal holding it closed. He raised an eyebrow as his father handed it to him, and smoothly sliced the seal open with his fingernail. Cautiously, he pulled several thick papers out of the envelope, unfurling them gently. His eyes scanned the page as he silently mouthed the words.

_We are pleased to inform that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

Uncharacteristically, he smiled ever so slightly as he read the rest of the letter, scanned the other materials, and placed them back into the envelope. He glanced at his father, who nodded and put a hand on his back. "The owl arrived this morning. I am proud of you my son, and I know that you will do great things."

Despite all of the events that had recently transpired and the lessons that his father had reminded him of, Spock couldn't help but feel something warm bubble up inside of him. He was going to the school he had been waiting for his whole life, he had completed his business in the muggle world, and even though the statement had been tainted before, his father was proud of him and had voiced it. The date was July 30th. There was only one month left to prepare.

**A/N: So I know that this isn't even half as long as the previous chapter, but that one was a definite anomaly and I didn't want to stretch this one out past its limit. I try to keep my length around or at least 4,000 words or so, and this is a little short for me, but this was where it needed to stop. Anyway, please feel free to drop me a review or PM and tell me what you think! Thanks for all of the follows, favorites, and reviews. It makes me really happy to know that people enjoy this story enough to keep tabs on it. Right now, I'm still just trying to set up my universe and get a couple of things ironed out. I'm sorry if anything seems disjoint or confusing in this chapter. I've been writing it during my summer computers class in between assignments, so I've been working on it for about two weeks or so in there when I can.**

**Also, has anyone ever watched Heroes? I started watching it a couple of weeks ago to see Zachary Quinto, and I'm almost ten episodes into season 3. Sylar is one of my favorites at this point. **

**~haaschiibrownii**


	3. Chapter 3

"Are you insane?"

Jim stared at the woman who had been his escort for the past two days in buying school supplies and coming to King's Cross to catch the train. She had introduced herself as the Headmaster's personal assistant, a Miss Colt, and had been nice enough to him over the course of their shopping expenditures and short stay at a pub entitled The Leaky Cauldron. This, however, made him certain that she was pulling his leg. "There is no way I'm going to run face first into a brick wall!"

She glanced around surreptitiously, the few glances and awkward stares that were coming in their direction not passing under her radar. Between Jim's American accent and his unusual protests, she knew that she had to get him through quickly before they attracted too much attention. "I know that it sounds irrational, but I promise you that I'm not about to let you injure yourself. You'll just have to trust me?"  
Jim stared at the barrier once again, and then raised his eyes to meet hers. "Why won't you come with me, then?"

She sighed and checked her timepiece. "Staff are not permitted to ride on the train. I will be taking a different route."

The stubborn young boy crossed his arms. "I'm not going in there until I see someone else do it and not kill themselves."

J.M. Colt sighed more irritably this time and imitated the young boy's posture. "Fine. But if no one goes through within the next five minutes you'll have to just do it yourself. I need to be at the school within the hour."

Electric blue eyes turned up skeptically towards her. "Why can't you just take me with you?"

"Traveling on the train is a good way to make friends with the other students," the witch said as she checked her watch more out of habit rather than anything else. She enjoyed being prompt and this delay was mildly irritating and set back her schedule ever so slightly. "Seeing as you have never met any other wizard children, it will be a good experience for you. Some of the friends that you make on the first day of school will last lifetimes."

Jim harrumphed, clearly not buying it. Then, all of a sudden his eyes widened as he spotted a boy who looked to be about his age moving towards the barrier with an adult by his side. He turned up to Miss Colt, who raised an eyebrow expectantly and nodded towards them. Jim quickly smiled in earnest. "Thanks for helping me and stuff. If you're wrong about this barrier thing though, you're taking me yourself."

He then ran off to catch up, and as she watched him run with a trunk in tow she couldn't help but smile. In the two days that she had spent with the young wizard, she could tell that he was certainly going to be a handful but also quite possibly a brilliant wizard as well. With a mother like Winona and even a muggle father like George Kirk, there was no way that Jim wouldn't bring excitement to Hogwarts. He ran up behind the other boy, and then watched skeptically as both he and his mother ran through the barrier. With one last toothy grin at Miss Colt, he steeled himself and passed through the barrier as well, tumbling through. She began to stride through King's Cross, hand curled around her wand in her pocket. There was much to accomplish before the students arrived.

* * *

Jim ran up behind the boy, being careful to look like he belonged here. Technically he did, but all of the wizard culture was so new and foreign still that it was difficult not to look like a lost tourist. As he walked nonchalantly behind the boy and his mother, Jim couldn't help but notice the radically different atmosphere at Platform Nine and Three Quarters in contrast to the bleak and brusque feel of King's Cross. The wizarding platform was warm, brightly lit, and packed with parents and their children, saying tearful goodbyes to the younger ones and tugging hugs from the older ones as they ran towards the train. Not quite sure what to do, he stuck close to the boy that he had followed (miraculously) through the barrier. He still couldn't shake the feeling of anxiousness, and as he swallowed nervously realized that he hadn't felt that way in quite some time.

When the mother and boy stopped, Jim finally looked at the train. The only trains that he had ever seen were fast, modern ones, but even those were becoming more outdated. This train was a gleaming scarlet, with steam puffing out of the engine and students hopping into the carriages. Jim couldn't help but be amazed. If what Miss Colt had told him was true, the train ran entirely on magic rather than steam after it had been… liberated, to use a more justifiable euphemism, from muggles in the early 1800's. He had never ridden in a train before. Heck, he had barely been out of Iowa before. The plane trip with Miss Colt had been unsettling for both of them, to say the very least.

All of a sudden, the shrill train whistle blew and Jim jumped, gripping his trunk tightly. The mass of students still saying goodbye to their parents started moving en masse towards the train, and Jim was left behind, not used the procedure yet. He fumbled for his watch, and saw that the time was 10:58. He had been informed that the train left at 11:00 proper, and so he grabbed the handle and started hurrying belatedly after the rest of the students who had entered the carriages with surprising speed. He climbed in at the first available entrance, but as he moved down the corridor realized with a jolt that all of the compartments were full. Pushing on, he passed through several carriages until he reached the last one.

It would be just his luck to be the one student that there wasn't any room for, Jim thought dryly as he pulled his trunk through the now mostly empty corridor. Finally, he reached the last compartment, and sighed in relief when he saw that there was only one boy sitting inside with a frown on his face as he stared out the window. Jim opened the compartment door, and as the boy looked up towards him he gave an apologetic smile. "Mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full."

"Whatever," the boy said in a southern drawl. "Plenty of room."

Jim instantly perked up. "You're from America!"

The boy nodded. "Georgia. Don't know why my family moved there, but I'm not complaining. Too cold up here."

Jim smiled, glad to have found at least one student he could relate to. "I'm from Iowa. Never really been anywhere else, so all of this is a nice change of scenery." As he sat down across from the boy, he extended his hand. "Jim Kirk."

The boy automatically grabbed his hand. "Leonard McCoy." All of a sudden his eyebrows narrowed in recognition. "Wait, Kirk? As in George Kirk?"  
Jim pulled his hand away. "You know my dad?"

Leonard laughed in a disbelieving sort of way. "Everyone knows your dad. He's the only muggle to ever serve under the Ministry of Magic, and did a hell of a job for the eight minutes he was an Auror."

Jim leaned back in his seat, exhaling in wonder. His mom hadn't been kidding. "So I've heard. Would you believe me if I told you that I just found out that there even was a Ministry of Magic a month ago?"

McCoy's eyebrows shot up in a way that Jim could already tell was uncharacteristic of his usual demeanor. "You're kidding. Didn't your mom ever tell you anything?"

Jim laughed bitterly. "I wish. She didn't even know I was a wizard until got my letter and called her."

Leonard exhaled, sinking back into the cushions. "That's unbelievable. So I guess all of this must be pretty weird, then."

"You have no idea," Jim said. "I was convinced I was going to get my face smashed on a brick wall when my guide told me to run through to get to the platform. I actually followed you in because the lady who brought me wouldn't come through too."

Leonard pulled down his trunk and opened it, searching for something. "Your mom? Why not?"

"Nah," Jim replied, setting his own trunk upright on the floor of the compartment. "Someone from the school. My mom couldn't bring me, she's working."

The other boy threw him a skeptical look, still rummaging through his trunk. "What does she do? Must be something pretty important if she can't even get off to see you off on the train."

Jim bit his lip, trying to remember the correct term, and then remembered that Leonard had mentioned it earlier. "She's an Auror. I'm still not sure exactly what that means, but… yeah."

"Not bad," Leonard mused. "My family's owned a plot of land in Georgia for as long as I can remember. Mom says that she can make more money off of that than she can in any wizarding industry, especially since she and my dad can use magic to run everything. It's a pain to convert the currency though."

Jim's eyebrows drew together as he remembered something. "Oh, yeah. By the way, can you help me with that? I still don't get any of this money. My escort explained it to me, but it doesn't make any sense yet." He pulled out three coins from a pouch he had been carrying in his pocket and held them out in his hand.

"Sure," Leonard said gruffly. "That one's a knut. It's the smallest value of currency. There are seventeen knuts to a sickle, the next one." He pointed to a silver coin slightly larger than the aforementioned bronze one. "There are nine sickles to a galleon, the largest value of currency. That's pretty much all you need to know."

Jim nodded. "Makes more sense than before, but it'll take some getting used to just like everything else." He peeked across at the boy as he opened a book in his lap. "What are you reading?"  
Leonard turned back to the cover, holding his place with a finger. "Medical textbook. Bought it half price at Flourish and Blotts." He flipped back to his bookmarked place, displaying the chapter title. "Just covered dermal regeneration. This chapter's focusing on osteoregeneration. It's more than just a flick of a wand or a potion. You really have to know the composition and chemistry behind it."

Jim couldn't help but let out a small laugh. "You do realize school hasn't even started yet, right?"

The other boy raised an eyebrow menacingly. "Leave me to my bones."

This time, Jim let out a full-fledged laugh. "Okay... bones." He added as an afterthought, and then pondered it for a moment. "That's it! Bones!" At the questioning look he received in response, Jim shrugged. "Leonard was getting to kind of a mouthful to think through in my head."

The boy rolled his eyes, but didn't protest as he returned to his reading, eyes scanning the page with a great deal of intent and interest. Jim decided to take a cue and pulled out the first book he could find in his trunk, _Hogwarts, A History_. It was about time he actually learned what he was about to get into, and what better place to start than with the story of the school itself? He cracked open the cover, savoring the new book smell, and began to scan the first page.

The two boys sat like this for quite some time, pausing to buy food when the trolley came around and to discuss their lives back at home. Both could tell that this was the beginning of a great friendship, despite their obvious differences. And although neither would want to admit it, it was nice to go into school knowing someone that wouldn't laugh at their accents.

* * *

Although he was learning a great deal from the situation, Spock had to admit that the social stimuli were mildly irritating.

He had been planning to do some light reading out of his transfiguration book in order to be prepared when each topic was covered in the class, but the flood of people in his compartment had prevented such. He had chose a compartment near the rear of the train in the hopes that it would not be filled with other students and he could study in peace, but it seemed that the train was so full that nearly every compartment save for one in the back of the train was completely full. Spock had considered moving to said compartment, but had realized that the other occupants had already begun chatting animatedly, and he did not want to offend any of the other occupants of his own compartment either.

He would admit that they weren't too bad, however. There was one girl who had given her name as Uhura that seemed well learned and had been able to hold an intelligent conversation when she asked what Spock had been studying. The dark skinned girl was from a multilingual family and spoke both English and French, so Spock had taken the opportunity to practice some basic conversational topics with her as he had briefly studied the other language while in school. He was far from fluent, but she had graciously complimented him on his close to native accent and excellent attention to pronunciation. Several other students that seemed to be acquainted with her had joined them, and she had begun to strike up a cheerful conversation, introducing Spock as her newest friend.

He had politely shaken the proffered hands though it was out of his usual social conduct, and only then did he realize that Uhura had completely ignored his ears or overall unusual physical characteristics. One of the other students had inquired somewhat rudely if he was half house elf. Uhura had shot them a pointed look as Spock coolly explained that no, he was not in fact related to any sort of elf and casually slipped in the fact that his father was essentially the muggle ambassador. Things had cleared up after that, and Spock could tell that Uhura was somewhat surprised that he wasn't more rattled after the uncomfortable affair. In truth, Spock had dealt with much worse while in muggle school and this was nothing in comparison. It had been a simple matter to shadow his emotions. Even though the comment had stung, it was nothing exceedingly horrible.

Following the uncomfortable event, Spock had cracked open his already lightly annotated transfiguration book and began to block out the other students and read. However, as they began to discuss increasingly interesting subjects, he found it difficult to concentrate solely on his reading. His eyes continued scanning the page methodically, but he shifted his focus from subject at hand to the conversation taking place around him.

"D'you hear about the attack last week at the Ministry?" One of the boys asked, leaning forward slightly in his seat. There were several murmurs of agreement as the other students' interests were piqued, and Spock's eyebrows drew together even though his eyes never left the page in front of him

"I think I have an article on it in here somewhere," Uhura interjected, digging methodically through her trunk until she pulled out a slightly worn issue of the Daily Prophet, notes in blue ink visible in what Spock presumed to be her own handwriting. She opened it to the second page, and began to read aloud. "Earlier this week, there was an attempted break in at the Ministry of Magic. The assailants appeared to be attempting to gain access to the lower floors and catacombs of the facility, and were only halted due to the observant eyes of one wizard who was able to discern their true physical appearance. The object to which they were attempting to procure has not been released to the press, but multiple sources have confirmed it to be some type of weapon. Unfortunately, the would be thieves were not apprehended and are presumed to have fled London." She closed the paper and looked up expectantly, one eyebrow raised skeptically. Spock couldn't help but feel as if something was missing from the story as well, and decided to interject. "What would you propose they mean by saying 'discern their true appearance'?"

The boy across from him who was sitting next to Uhura snorted. "I'd reckon they mean that they were disguised." Several of the other students in the compartment snickered, and Spock could feel the first vestiges of emerald blood rushing to his ears.

However, he let it pass and remained unfazed. Raising an eyebrow, he spoke again. "An excellent observation. However, I was referring as to why their true appearance would not be noted within the article."

The compartment remained silent, and Spock couldn't help but feel a bit more accomplished for rendering them speechless. He saw Uhura nodding slowly in agreement. "That's a good point; makes it seem like their identity is almost as secret as whatever they were trying to steal."

Spock nodded in agreement. "It would only be logical for the public to be looking for these individuals, but it seems that the risks outweigh the benefits. An interesting situation, if I may present my opinion." After that, he remained silent and appeared to return to his book, eyes skipping over the page once again. The other students remained mostly silent for quite some time, but Spock could see Uhura smile slightly at him as she continued reading and skipping through the newspaper, obviously pleased with his observation. Eventually, the other students began chatting again, and Spock simply disappeared into the background as he continued reading his book. He had purchased a Chocolate Frog when the trolley passed, and was somewhat disappointed to receive his thirteenth Zephram Cochrane since he had begun collecting. The man had been a pioneer in developing the apparation spell, but after reading his condensed biography multiple times he began to feel quite dull.

The monotony was only interrupted when a boy with blonde hair and striking blue eyes ran into the compartment, asking for water urgently through a swollen tongue and comically large hands. Spock had obliged, giving the irritating boy his water bottle as he could hear raucous laughter from the compartment over. The boy had thanked him (or at least Spock assumed he had as he couldn't discern any speech through the numb tongue) and ran back to the compartment he had come from. At least, Spock reminded himself, there were some people at this school that were worth knowing and that would be able to uphold the standard set by wizards before them in order to balance others who were already considerably less suited for the task.

As they changed into their robes, Spock still couldn't help but feel something exciting. This was the beginning of the rest of his life; the first day on a trek to greatness, and a wonderful opportunity to begin to make connections with other intelligent youth such as Uhura. He packed up his textbooks and other belongings and stuck close to his new friend (he was using the term loosely as he was not entirely sure how to define the concept as of yet), making sure that he stayed with the group.

He didn't miss the stares at his ears, and when anyone dared to make eye contact he merely cocked one solitary eyebrow in an expression of skepticism and condescendence, and they typically looked away. Little escaped his perception, and he watched as the older students moved up towards the carriages while he followed the other first years towards he lake. The blonde boy who had previously invaded their compartment was laughing with someone he was calling "Bones", and continued blathering on even as the other boy rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath. Their rapport made it seem as if they were long time friends, but Spock suspected that they had only just met. It seemed as if everyone was quick at forming bonds here and wasn't wasting any time in building their relationships, but he still found it illogical to become close friends before anyone had even been sorted yet.

He made notice of his peers milling around the boats trying to remember each of them so it would be easier for him to memorize names and put them to faces at a later date. There was the curly haired child who was chatting animatedly to an Asian boy in a distinct Russian accent, one blonde woman who had struck up a conversation with "Bones" and was discussing the medical textbook he had in his hand, and of course the blue eyed boy who was obviously flirting with a girl who had a full head of corkscrew ginger hair and green eye shadow on. Finally, there was boy who spoke in a thick Scottish brogue who was ranting irritatedly to his friend about the lack of reliability that a certain type of wand provided. All in all, there were a wide variety of students and personalities that were entering their class, and Spock hoped that at least some of them would be sane enough in order to make the school year more interesting.

However, even as he noted everything about the small crowd of students clambering to get in boats with their friends, he failed to notice the tattooed face peering out from behind the tree line, eyes following the young boy who was so easily distinguished by his pointed ears. The hidden man's face visibly tightened as his hand gripped his wand. He muttered one word under his breath as he watched the boy step gracefully into a waiting boat, assisting a young lady as well.

_"Spock."_

**A/N: Thank you for putting up with the wait! I assure you I wasn't just not writing the story, but I also want to forewarn you that this is actually a lucky update time for me and I am rubbish at updating regularly. I do try my best though! I don't know if any of you know about/are in the IB (International Baccalaureate) programme, but I started it three weeks ago and I'm getting the homework piled on like nothing before. However, two of my teachers are both Whovians and Sherlockians so that makes it pretty great. I dressed up one of my history textbooks up as the 11th doctor, so that was a good time. On the downside however, IB means that my update rate will be more dreadful than ever, so I encourage all of you to stick with me! It means a lot that you're reading this story, and for those of you that enjoy it - I am very glad you do! Please feel free to drop me a line and tell me what you think. I am very open to criticism and would love any suggestions on how I can improve. Thanks a bunch, you're all the greatest!**

**~haaschiibrownii**

**P.S. Thinking about writing a Sherlock/Star Trek crossover in all of the spare time that I don't have. Thoughts?**


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